


Cuckoo

by WolffyLuna



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crushes, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Miscommunication, tragicomedy of errors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/pseuds/WolffyLuna
Summary: Keith and Shiro are definitely interested in the other, but have spent so long dancing around each other that the rest of the paladins have taken bets to stay sane. Unfortunately, it turns out Keith is part Galra, and it goes downhill rapidly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it!

Keith’s nails grew thicker. They became a distinct bump at the end of his fingers, and the edges curled inwards. He cut them down as best as he could, blunting the clippers each time. 

The quick moved downwards. His quarters looked like a murder scene when he found that out. He kept finding new bloodstains.

He could still cut them now, but it was a struggle. More like trimming a sheep’s hoof than a human nail. They grew fast enough that he cut them every day. 

At least it was just the one hand.

It took him awhile to work out it was the hand that got the quintessence on it.

He nearly asked Coran for an explanation, but... he didn’t. If you asked, he would have claimed because he knew Coran was touchy about Quintessence. Honestly, it was because he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer. Most likely it was sheer paranoia, but something inside him warned him against it. That little knot of fear that he might be Weird, and he knew what happened when you were Weird.

No one else had noticed. Or, they decided it would be polite not to tell him.

He kept quiet, and trimmed his nails.

***

The paladins sheltered in quiet alcove, just behind the markets. There were pros and cons to becoming celebrities and heroes overnight. On the one hand, stall holders practically threw stuff at them. On the other hand, crowds thickened into tight knots around them.

Shiro lead the retreat.

They’d avoided being spotted at least. This planet’s equivalent of band flyers plastered the walls, olders ones flicking and rustling in the wind. 

“Hey, I found something that I might like.” Shiro handed a Keith something.

He took it. It was a little cylinder of emobossed leather, with another cylinder of metal inside it. Tools, mostly knives, spiralled out of it, like an alien swiss army knife. The metal iridesced purple and green in the sun.

Pidge stage whispered to Lance and Hunk, the sound of the market covering her voice. “Look at Shiro. He’s so nervous.”

Shiro rubbed the shaved back of his head, and watched Keith as he fiddled with the multi tool. It was a close, careful observation, scanning for signs of Keith’s opinion. 

“Well crafted. Thanks.” He half punched, half stroked Shiro’s arm. “Bro.”

Shiro laughed at the shared joke, and looked less like he was considering fleeing.

“How many levels of irony are they on now?” asked Lance.

Hunk scratched his head. “I think it’s dropping?”

“It better be. I can’t take any more of this flirting and dancing around each other,” said Pidge.

“That’s just because you have a bet on it happening this week. Anyway, Shiro’s involved.” Lance did an impression, which was a weird cross between ‘blushing maiden’ and ‘courtyl knight.’ “I don’t want to pressure anyone, so I’m going to be super gallant and plausibly deniable and wait for Captain Closet to make the first move.”

Pidge did Keith. “I am super tough and manly, must be so at all times! I have no vulnerabilities, no siree, I’m just gonna blush and say ‘bro’ a lot.”

Keith turned around. “Who are you talking about?”

“Hunk,” Lance blurted. “Hunk and Shay.”

“Hey!”

Shiro looked disbelieving, and Keith rolled his eyes.

 

***

Keith sparred against the gladiator, bayard whirling. It’d been programmed to behave like a galra drone. He’d practice till he could read it’s telegraphing so well he acted on it before he noticed it.

He was close. His sword hand behaved less like an extension of himself, more like had it’s own thoughts. It moved before he asked it to, parried to before he saw the gladiator’s strikes.

The gladiator’s blade rushed towards him. He sidestepped, parried. Took the opening, thrust through it’s chest plate.

It pulled itself off, and kept going.

The door slid open, and Shiro entered. The machine paused to watch him.

“Power down,” Keith said. He looked over to Shiro, and waited for him to talk. 

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t sparring yourself to exhaustion.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

Shiro walked towards him. “I know, but you need to rest too. You’re a valuable member of the team; I don’t want you to get hurt because you’re are overtired.” He didn’t lecture, didn’t use what Keith had come to think of as his ‘leader voice,’ but his ‘friend voice.’

“I was going to finish up soon anyway.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Is that so?”

Keith smiled back. “An hour is soon, isn’t it?”

Shiro huffed out a laugh, and laid a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You’ll get plenty of practice against drones tomorrow, and I know you’ll give them the kicking of their life.”

They stood close, in each other’s personal space. They’d been physically closer before, but this felt more intense, like the air between them vibrated. Like the universe watched, wondering: _Will they admit it? Who’ll admit first?_ Shiro’s face wasclose, in easy lip reach. It was tempting to stop all this dancing round, to make a move.

But some small part of him stopped the rest. _This will make you vulnerable,_ it said. _The disclarity protects._ Even if that part was wrong, he couldn’t take back a move he made. He knew he wanted it, knew Shiro did-- But that wasn’t enough to cover the irrational fear. Not yet.

He stepped back. “I better get to bed then.”

“Yes. Right.”

Keith left, feeling stupid that he let such a small part of him rule the rest. But he couldn’t beat it.

There were close. Their spiralling dance nearly reached the centre.

He’d have the courage tomorrow.

 

***

The refinery burned. 

Red;s flames did better than any of them expected. The quintessence itself was non-flammable, but the chemicals and reagents used to process it went up like wax. Druids and drones packed ships full of containers of quintessence, trying to get one last shipment in the air before the site was lost.

They left the slaves to burn.

Keith and Red dived. “I’ll go fix the mess I made.” 

“Be careful.” 

Red landed with a screech, and opened her mouth. Keith ran out, bayard in hand. Smoke and cinders rushed into the low pressure of his lion.

He waved a group of prisoners towards Red’s maw. “In, in, in!”

The slaves ran. One, missing a leg, stumbled.

Keith grabbed them. The air smelled of ham. He cradled them, and ran towards Red.

Metal whined. The bracket of the conveyer belt above failed. Something fell, parting the air.

Keith balled up, using his body to shield the prisoner. The barrel broke across his back, areas of heat stress pulling apart. His spine and shoulders tingled. 

Quintessence.

Shiro’s voice blared over the comms. “Are you alright?”

Keith picked himself up, and kept running. The quintessence seemed to heal the injuries from the barrel as soon as they formed. The prisoner was okay, merely bruised. “Fine.”

***

Keith whirled around the gladiator. His muscles itched and burned with restlessness, sang with the need to move, to fight, ~~to hunt, to kill.~~

The barrel hadn’t hurt. Didn’t even leave any bruises. But the quintessence did something. Filled him with an energy he couldn’t contain. 

He couldn’t sleep. Any moment of stillness was like a thousand needles. So her fought. He jumped and spun and slashed, trying to purge whatever had wormed its way into him.

***

Something warm touched Keith’s arm. He sprang up.

The gladiator sparked. Pieces of it spread across the floor.

He was still in the training room. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but here he was. Waking up. 

Shiro stood in front of him, hand still out. “You alright?”

Keith nodded, then glanced back at the broken gladiator. “Maybe not.”

Shiro laid a hand on his shoulder, more tentative than usual. “That’s okay. We can work something out.”

“I’m not sure what happened—“

“Understandable—“

“—I hope Coran’ll be okay with what happened to it.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a priority.”

Keith rubbed the back of his neck. “The falling asleep thing probably is more worrying.”

“You haven’t noticed.” It was a statement, not a question. Shiro wasn’t just tentative, he was tense. His pupils shrunk, and he planted his feet right forward, left back. Fighting stance.

“What?”

“Your ears.”

Keith cupped the side of his head. Nothing there. He walked his fingers up. 

His ears were at the top of his head. They were furry, cat like. His brain failed to process it. Ears don’t just move, and these weren’t cat ears, they were g—

Shiro spoke quieter, brow softening. “Your eyes.”

Keith scrambled for the nearest reflective surface, a fragment of the gladiator. He fumbled with it. His had nails had curled and folded into claws. 

He tried retracting them. They did. His arm hair had turned from black to purple.

He picked up the fragment. Yellow eyes looked back at him. He wanted to drop it, run away, but he couldn’t. He stared at his alien reflection.

“We’ll get through this,” Shiro said. “As a team.”

Keith turned to him. He’d only seen Shiro this tense once. When he’d rescued him from the Garrison, when he was a taut wire constantly torn between fight and flight.

Keith shouldn’t have waited two nights ago. He’d missed his chance. 

 

***

Coran poked about, too far into Keith’s personal space. Keith flinched every time he moved. “It’s probably from the quintessence spill,” Coran said.

“Quintessence turns you Galra?” asked Pidge.

Coran shook his head. “If it did, you’d all be Galra now. Every living being has quintessence. The spill didn’t turn him part Galra, it revealed him as part Galra.”

Keith’s eyes widened, and he leaned away.

“Galra are brood parasites. Sometimes they leave full galra, sometimes they leave hybrids.” He clapped his hands on the red paladin’s shoulders. “Like your Keith here.”

“So-- Keith’s a cuckoo?” asked Lance.

“He’s _our_ cuckoo.” Shiro turned to Keith. “This doesn’t change your position in the team.”

Keith suppressed a bitter laugh, because yes, this did.

***

Keith sat on his bed, curled into the foetal position, and feeling like slime. 

Correction: some people liked slime, and comparing himself to slime would be an insult to all likeable slime. 

If he could rip his way out of his skin, he would. The worst part was the terrifying _rightness_. He’d always felt somewhat separate from humans, like they were a different creature. When he was younger, he pretended to be an alien explorer, taking notes on the strange customs of these humans. It was pretty much the only reason he’d learned a modicum of social skills.

And now he wasn’t fully human. He’d been a cuckoo chick convinced it was a sparrow. 

_“You fight like a Galra.”_ He laughed without humour at the memory, because no shit--

“Keith? Can I come in?” Shiro’s voice was muffled by the doorway. 

He was tempted to say no, and just wallow in his slimeness, but Shiro would come back later, probably even more concerned. Plus, there was something he needed to do. 

He’d seen the way Shiro looked at him in the training room. Shiro was honourable, wouldn’t want to be the one to reject him for _this,_ he’d keep courting as he shredded himself on the sharp edges of Keith and his memory. Someone had to be the bigger person and call it off. 

“Sure.” 

Shiro sat on the edge the bed, playing with his fingers. “I have something I’ve been meaning to say --”

He’d thought Shiro must have come in out of some sense of courtliness, some attempt to make it work. But watching his expression, Keith knew he’d been wrong. It was carefully blank, but Shiro watched the door. “You don’t have to.”

“Oh, okay.” He picked at the joints of his metal hand. 

They paused. 

Shiro didn’t leave, just stayed on the bed, messing with his hands. _Don’t make this harder than it has to be._ “I don’t think it’d work out. Us, I mean.” 

Shiro turned away from the door to make eye contact. “Not work now, or not work ever?” 

Keith shrugged. There was some slim chance of a cure, of Keith becoming fully human again, or something. Or Shiro magically becoming okay with it. But how likely were either of those?

“I understand.” Shiro left. 

Keith curled up tighter. He didn’t know what was worse: feeling disgusted with yourself, or seeing someone be scared of you. 

*** 

Keith sat on the other side of the table to the rest of the group, spooning foodgoop into his mouth. 

Shiro sat down in the chair next to him. “Good morning.”

Keith wanted the floor to drop out from underneath him. Shiro had to be forcing himself to act okay with this in front of the team. Keeping up cohesion, or something. He was being self sacrificing. 

And he was the reason he had to do that. 

Keith’s ears flattened, then straightened them before anyone could notice. (God, he was picking up Galra expressions--)

Shiro spoke to Allura about Castle maintenance. 

Keith picked up his plate, and moved to the other side of the table. He went as far from Shiro as possible, being away from the others a secondary concern.

Shiro didn’t seem to notice, as he scribbled out a schedule on a spare piece of paper. 

Hunk leaned over and whispered in Pidge’s ear. “Did that just happen?” 

“I guess it did? I don’t know, it’s just--”

“Super weird?”

“Yeah.”

***

Shiro jogged up the corridor after him. “Can I have a word?”

Keith didn’t turn around. “No.” Shiro didn’t seem to have the ability to not try and be honourable, self sacrificing. Couldn’t avoid shredding himself, chasing monsters up corridors. It’s be easier if her could take hints, or at least realise Keith was trying to stop him hurting himself. 

“Oh. Okay. I’ll ask later then.”

***

_“I can do this. I’ve just got to be direct.”_

_The mirror stubbornly reflected him as he was: rattled and nervous. Shiro leaned against it, his breath fogging the surface. “This is stupid.”_

_He’d gotten used to the gentle dancing around, enjoyed it even. It was low pressure. They had an understanding that they were both interested, and an understanding that they didn’t need to make it obvious yet._

_But now was the time to be more forward, to avoid miscommunication. Keith probably needed some to tell him they didn’t care (or that they_ did _care, but in the sense that they cared about what Keith felt about this, not about it directly--)_

_The fact that even in internal monologue he couldn’t acknowledge what it was he didn’t directly care about wasn’t helping. Because some subconscious part really did care, and shouting at him like he was a horror movie protagonist about to go into the haunted house. But Keith mattered more. And there was no reason to believe that Keith himself had fundamentally changed, just-- his wrapping. Coran had said he’d always been like this._

_Shiro had some confidence, part innate, part from a sense of ‘what’s the worst that could happen, and will it be worse than being captured by the Galra?” But he couldn’t summon it now. That was the other advantage of the dancing around: it avoided the whole problem of being unable to talk to the person he was interested in._

_He was going to have to do ask while horribly nervous. ‘Horribly nervous’ may have been something resembling his natural state nowadays, but this was different flavour, harder to cover. In the mirror, he could see his shoulders up around his ears._

_At least ‘What if my crush doesn’t actually like me and I’ve been misinterpreting it this whole time’ was a slightly more normal thing to be anxious about than ‘what if I never escaped and this just a trick?”_

_He walked out of his quarters, to Keith’s._

_He took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. “Keith? Can I come in?”_

_“Sure.” Keith sat curled into a tight ball, his ears drooping._

_He sat on the edge of his bed. His left hand bent the fingers of his right back and forward. Didn’t helping with the impression of confidence, but if he didn’t move his hands he’d probably vibrate off the bed._

_“I have something I’ve been meaning to say --” Shiro said._

_“You don’t have to.”_

_“Oh, okay.” Now his right hand decided it was time to mess with his left. At least communication had been achieved? But as Keith didn’t say anything after, he had the sinking feeling that somewhere they’d badly misunderstood each other._

_“I don’t think it’d work out. Us, I mean.”_

_Oh. That’s-- not what I expected. He couldn’t have been misreading the situation for so long, could he? “Not work now, or not work ever?”_

_Keith shrugged._

_“I understand.” Which was a lie, but probably the correct thing to say right now. First rule of break ups and break up like things: don’t ask why, because you’ll only make it worse._

_Keith said it wouldn’t work. Keith knew Keith better than he did. Keith was right._

_He walked out, and tried to will himself not be upset. It didn’t work._

_He hoped it was Keith being affected by just the recent change, which was a horrible thing to wish. “I hope this horrifying bodily transformation is bothering you!” But if it was, at least they might have another chance later?_

****

“It sucks that Keith and Shiro aren’t going to get together,” said Lance. “They’d’ve worked great.” 

Pidge tapped away at her laptop. “You’re just saying that because you’re gonna lose the bet.”

“No! Okay, a little. Pity Keith’s all-- galra-- and Shiro can’t deal.” 

Hunk stopped mixing batter with a clatter of spoon against bowl. “Hang on.” 

Pidge rolled her hand, gesturing him to keep talking. 

“Shiro isn’t the one acting weird, it’s Keith. Like, he’s the one who did the thing at breakfast. If Shiro couldn’t deal, why’d Keith move? Plus, there was like that thing in the hallway.” 

“And?” 

“Shiro can totally _deal,_ he’s not the problem.” 

“Maybe Shiro told him he couldn’t deal beforehand,” said Lance.

Hunk crossed his arms. “Yes, because that is _definitely_ something Shiro would say out loud.”

Pidge kept typing. “As we know, he just _hates_ team cohesion.” 

“See? Pidge agrees.” 

“So, Shiro’s not obviously freaked out. This changes things how, exactly?” said Lance. 

“We thought Shiro was freaking, even though he’s probably not. So, Keith might think that. We can prove to him otherwise,” said Hunk. 

“And I can win the bet!” 

Pidge and Hunk gave him a withering glare.

“...and they’ll be super good for each other, and the weirdness will stop.”

Hunk clicked his fingers. “A dinner. Food solves everything, and makes people talk,”

“Hold up, We have a hypothesis that Shiro isn’t freaking out. We should probably, like, check, before we try and set them up. Just so we don’t make it worse.” 

“Right. Talking, then food.” 

“You just want an excuse to cook something fancy.”

***

“How do you feel about Keith?” they said, in unison. 

Shiro jumped, and spun around. “What?” 

They gathered in the doorway, Pidge sitting on Hunk’s shoulders, presumably to be in a better position for unified chanting. “Well, not him in general. About, like, the whole galra thing?” Pidge asked. 

Shiro paused. “I wouldn’t say it didn’t change how I felt about him, but it didn’t change it much.” 

“Didn’t cause any--” Pidge gesticulated, like she was pillow fighting an invisible t rex. Lance helped.

“I don’t get what you’re implying” Shiro said, with the expression of someone who did know but was having none of it. They managed to generally avoid treating him like a delicate maiden, which made any instances of it doubly annoying. The Keith thing was... freaky, but nothing else. 

“Told you the problem was with Keith,” Hunk said. 

“What problem?” 

“The whole being attached at the hip one eightying to avoiding each other thing? You had to have noticed,” Hunk said. 

“I did.”

“We thought it might have been you freaking out. Hunk was the one who guessed it might have been Keith.” 

Shiro paused, thinking. “Damn it.” 

He ran out of the room.

“Did he just--?”

Lance slapped his hands to his face “Now they’re both being weird..”

***

It was obvious in hindsight. But again, most problems that had to do with assumptions were. He’d _assumed_ the only problem was Keith being uncomfortable with being Galra, not that he thought Shiro was. 

It made things make more sense when he realised. The avoidance? All ‘for’ him. 

He looked up at the mirror. “This didn’t go very well last time.” 

He had to be confident. State his piece, but not push. Sort this out. 

He hoped that the other paladins had been right, that it was just Keith worrying on his behalf. It meant the problem was solvable. It was frustrating that Keith thought him so delicate, but frustrating was preferable to this being unfixable.

It would involve being more direct than he liked.

Keith was easy enough to find, and didn’t flee. That was a good start. 

He couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t far too blunt, and assuming more things. _Actions speak louder than words?_ He reached out with his right hand, and stroked Keith’s ear. 

The short fur was soft, like a cat’s ear. It twitched. 

“What was that?” 

Shiro pulled his hand away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Make _me_ uncomfortable? What about you?” 

“I’m not uncomfortable, unless you are. I thought it might be best to demonstrate it, clear up any misunderstandings.” Shiro leaned against the wall, steadying his breathing.

“Should we pick up where we left off, or is it still not the time?” Shiro tried not to sound like he was fishing for a particular answer. Which was difficult, because some part of him was. It had been a gamble, another assumption, that it was just his imagined discomfort that was the problem.

“Yeah, but who’s going to admit they are interested first?”

Shiro reached out and petted Keith’s ear. He leaned into it this time. “ I’d like to think this was an admission of interest.”


End file.
